


50 Kisses

by thegillovnyway



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Birthday, Lots of kissing, gillian turns 50 years old, this is just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegillovnyway/pseuds/thegillovnyway
Summary: David and Gillian spending the morning of her 50th birthday together.





	50 Kisses

The sun has barely blinked when David opens his eyes. His vision is blurry for a short second and when she comes into focus, his love, he smiles lazily. Gillian is still asleep. She is an early riser like him, but when they’re together like this, he wakes up before her. It gives him a moment to make sure this is a real and not a dream. She is here, so is he. Together, in this place.

David grins at her as he scoots closer. To say she’s beautiful does not do her justice. Magnificent. Breathtaking. Perfect. She’d frown at that, reminding him that she’s not. Neither is he. They know. If there’s one thing they’ve learned in all these years it’s that; there’s no perfect. No perfect timing or place, situation or emotion. He swallows. Today, at least this moment, right now, is perfect. To him, anyway. He refuses to call it anything but that.

The first kiss lands on her cheek. It’s a soft whisper against her skin, barely there. He has to start there, because it’s where it began, too, 25 years ago. When he first kissed her then, her skin chilly and wet (the rain, she claimed, but he knew better; he also knew better than to comment), he couldn’t have known. The journey that was ahead of them unknown. Had someone told him he’d be here 25 years later, with her, after all they’ve gone through… he would have laughed even harder.

The second kiss lands on the corner of her mouth. An almost there, almost shy attempt. They’ve had those, too, some 20 years ago.

“Hmm, what are you doing?” Gillian mumbles as David lets his lips trail over hers - number three, right there - to the other side of her mouth, leaving another peck and another promise.

“Kissing you,” he says in between peppering her face with kisses, “awake.” She giggles against him and sound so young. So very, very young. If he keeps his eyes closed, his lips against her warm, sleepy skin, he can imagine it. Them 25 years ago, 20 years, 10 years. She still tastes the same, feels the same and most importantly, makes him feel like he is himself, like the man he is supposed to be.

“Happy,” one kiss for each closed eyelid, “birthday,” he finishes with a kiss on her nose. Her fingers tangle in his hair as he kisses his favorite spot on her neck, then behind her ear. He found it ages ago, in 1997. A decadence of touches, of feelings. That one night when there were no rules and nothing to stop them. David never forgot about that spot, never would.

He moves on, kissing her throat and her clavicle. His lips stop there for a second, waiting.

“What are you doing?” Gillian says sounding impatient, making him smile against her skin.

“Counting.”

“Counting what? David, come on,” she sighs, her fingers quickly running though his hair.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” he says and punctuates his words with kisses against her naked breasts, gently sucking her nipples briefly, “for every year you’ve been alive. So I need to count. 50 kisses for my lady.” Number 24 lands right under her breasts, where her heartbeat greets him.

“You’re such a sap,” Gillian chuckles, her voice a deep timbre.

“You taste…,” but he doesn’t finish, leaves a kiss against the small P standing for Piper, meaning so much. He lingers there, too, kisses her twice on the same spot.

“Like… avocado?” Gillian laughs; how she loves that joke. Another 25 years down the road and she’ll still joke about it; he is certain of that.

“Fuck you,” he breathes on her navel and kisses her right under it, thankful that she slept in the nude. There’s nothing there but her creamy, soft skin.

“I would,” she moans as he moves lower, his lips dancing over her mons, “but you insist on all those kisses.”

“You,” a gentle whisper almost where she wants him, “deserve,” a more definite one now with intent, “all the kisses in the world.” David’s mouth is on her clit and she whimpers. He doesn’t stay there, much to her (and his) disappointment. Wet kisses against her thighs, one, two and so many.

“Of fuck, David,” she groans, “stop fucking around and just fuck me.”

“Patience, babe,” he kisses against her knee, “we’ll get there.”

David finds scars he didn’t know about, wonders when she got them, how. Her body, as well as he knows it, always a surprise to him, too. Like she is.

He runs out of kisses before he runs out of skin. Number 47 on her shin (another scar, one he knows) and number 48 on her ankle. David lifts his head and his eyes meet hers. They’re warm and gentle, attentive and dare he think it? Happy. He picks up her hand and kisses her tattoo there. Only one left. Neither of them speaks as he looks up at her. 25 years by her side. Half a life, half her life. He wrote a song about this, claiming it wasn’t about her (it isn’t, not really). But what isn’t about her? Her life is entangled with his, forever. Once that thought scared him. Once he wanted to cut off the connection, tear out the roots. What he would have missed.

“How many left?” Gillian asks him.

“One,” he answers, his voice breaking. There’s one kiss left. One day. That’s all they’ve got. Tomorrow… he doesn’t want to think about it. They’ll go back to their respective lives, separated by an ocean, by time, by everything. Today is a gift. But it’s a also a buble; one that’s bound to burst. Every time.

“Then do it. Kiss me. I want you to-” Before she can finish (and he knows what she wants to say, what she wants him to do), he kisses her lips. He’s tasted her so many times and yet it’s always new, always feels like a revelation. She is not idle and kisses him back just as hungrily, reminding him that they’re on borrowed time.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” he whispers against her lips before she captures them again.

“No tomorrow,” she says, sounding out of breath, “be here now.” They hold their breaths for a moment, stare at each other before they break out into giggling fits.

“Fuck me. Now,” Gillian rasps finally and he kisses her another 50 times, maybe five million times, to make it count.


End file.
